A Moon for the Misbegotten
by ScarlettBladeDancer
Summary: A Moon for the Misbegotten: A Gothic Tale in Three Parts. A blood moon is the last moon to rise before the fall of winter. It is also a symbol of darkness, devotion, and death. A Companion Story to Ill Met By Moonlight
1. Initiation

** A MOON FOR THE MISBEGOTTEN**

**Part I- Initiation  
**

_  
Every school has its secrets. Some have hidden rooms, concealed passageways, or mysterious ghosts. Some secrets are darker._

The three quarts of bat's blood were gone in a splash and a whisp of steam. He knew better than to be stingy when working on a Dark Magic charm. A handful of groundup bone and musty dirt, dug from some ancient murderer's grave, was next. The haze above the small bowl went from white to black in the dim beams of dusty light and took on the whiff of rotted flesh. He inhaled deeply and the room went slightly blurry for a moment. No, it wasn't ready yet. He'd have to use _it_, after all. He'd hoped to save the precious rarity for himself, with no one the wiser, but it couldn't be helped.

The heat from the boiling charm was driving him mad and swiftly drenching his body. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to rid them of smoke and salty sweat, but his sight refused to clear. He wiped his sticky palms on his pants and reached into the school bag at his side, his eyes still fixed on the roiling mess in the bowl. Hands trembled slightly, he grasped at the sticky mess in the bag and rapidly blinked, trying again to clear his eyes and gasping slightly in the stifled air. An unpleasant plopping noise filled the air as he dropped the bloody entrails into the bowl and the viscous liquid enveloped them, slurping in a most disconcerting manner.

He stared eagerly at the glop as it writhed and bubbled, but no change was apparent. Damn. Tiger's guts were hard to come by, and he'd hate to think he'd just gone and wasted them in such a careless manner. Perhaps if he waited another moment... But no. The still-liquid charm gurgled at him sullenly and the heat from the bowl retreated slightly. He cursed and groped frantically in his school bag, searching for something, anything, to save all his hard work from failure. His roving fingers met nothing but rough canvas and the stickiness of half-dried tiger's blood. Nothing.

As the steam swiftly dissipated, a mad idea sprung into his mind. Maybe... maybe. It was worth a try. Working swiftly now, he unclasped the top of his robes, regardless of the smears of blood which his hands left on the heavy fabric, then tore at the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other scrabbling on the ground for his knife. Quickly, quickly now, before the charm had fully congealed, with no time to hesitate or feel squeamish, he sliced the already filthy blade shallowly across his chest, leaning over the bowl to let the blood drip down the cut and trickle into the rapidly cooling charm. As the first drop skittered across the glistening surface like water on a hot griddle, he felt the heat rise up again, followed by a rush of silver sparks and steam. It dentreched his face and filled him with a wild sense relief and triumph. As his blood continued to pool around it, the charm abruptly seized up and solidified into a tiny shimmering droplet in the bottom of the iron bowl. He almost let out a yell of exultation and pain, but restrained it as he recalled where he was.

A current of freezing air scored across his back like another knife slice, and he spun around in shock, sprawling on the floor and only narrowly avoiding knocking over his hard-won charm.

For one split second, he stared directly into the wide eyes of a small girl who stood framed in the open door. The moonlight spilling in from the corridor behind her turned her hair into a blond halo and threw her face into shadow. But then she spun with a gasp and ran away as though her life depended on it, leaving him half-naked and bleeding on the stone floor.

So it was that Blaise Zabini first made the acquaintance of Natalie McDonald.

It was never meant to be.

ooooooooooo

Blaise allowed himself a single moment to assess the situation. The girl was an unknown quantity, a risk. She might do anything. She had to be contained. Sparing a mere glance to reassure himself that the charm was safe, Blaise clambered up with a clumsiness born of haste and fear, and ran for the door. The girl had just spun around the corner at the end of the corridor, but she was so small. He smirked. She didn't stand a chance.

Before Tally knew what was happening, a hand reached out and grabbed her roughly by the back of her robes, whirling her around and pinning her against the wall. Rough stone bit into her back as she stared up at the older boy, his eyes glinting madly down at her. She could see the sweat glistening on his face, feel the heat still coming off of him. She gulped and closed her eyes.

Don't look away now, he whispered, softly mocking. After all, you hardly stayed a moment. Shouldn't we get to know each other... _better_? His voice hardened into a snarl on the last word and his hand fisted around the fabric as he leaned down, almost face to face with her.

But she didn't move. Blaise was suddenly aware of how fast her breath was coming and of the frantic flickering movement of her eyes beneath the closed lids. Like a little animal. Trapped prey. He straightened up, staring at her curiously, as if she was some sort of scientific specimen. So different, with her tangled blond hair, her smooth, frightened white face, her tiny heaving lungs. So fragile.

As if she sensed the sudden detachment of her captor, Tally's eyes blinked open and then stared upwards in shock.

Is that... blood? she breathed in wonder. Even her voice was different. Innocent. Her fingers began to reach out to touch it as she stared, hypnotized. Realizing what she was about to do, she snatched them back and stared up at him, fearful, as though expecting a punishment.

Slowly, he took her tiny fingers in his other hand and brought them up to brush against his bare chest, slowly dipping into the cut and smearing the blood across his skin. She stared with wide eyes, first at the smears, then at her own fingers, and finally, with awe and confusion, into his hard face. Her breath escaped in something resembling a gasp, as though she had been holding it out of fear or reverence.

It's... warm. She stared at the wetness on her fingers, then slowly rubbed them together, marveling as though she held fairy dust on her trembling hand.

Well, they only call us cold-blooded snakes, retorted Blaise, half-amused. It's not an anatomical fact.

She looked up and met his eyes suddenly, her wonder lost in an abrupt resurgence of fear. _Slytherin._ His words had brought her back to earth and her gaze was wary, but she didn't move a muscle. Just froze and watched him. He was losing her. Any moment, that frozen fear might explode into panicked escape.

He knelt down swiftly, using his body to effectively trap her against the wall; she shrunk as far away from him as she could, trying to escape the brush of his warm breath against her cheek.

What... what are you doing? she whispered softly. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. This little girl had struck him as being far too intimidated to question him. But Blaise was not adverse to surprises. Slowly, slowly, making sure that her wide blue eyes were following his every movement, he reached into his belt, studying her face for a reaction as he drew forth the blood-encrusted knife. Here was another surprise, especially when found in such a small girl. Fear quickly filled her eyes, yes, but not before they widened with an unmistakable flicker of... could that have been _excitement_? Strange. Very strange. The whisper of air beside his face belied her quickened breathing.

Perhaps she was not quite so different, after all.

The hand with the knife whipped out and slashed at her face. She recoiled backwards in silent shock, banging her head hard against the rock wall behind her. After a long moment, she raised her head and realized that he hadn't touched her. The blade rested against her cheek, icy and threatening, but her skin was still unbroken; he had stopped his violent thrust mere millimeters away from gouging her face open.

She still hadn't screamed.

Still studying her face as though it was a particularly difficult puzzle, Blaise reached down with one hand and grasped her arm, his fingers hard against her skin, even through her sleeve. He turned her slightly and pinned her arm against the wall. She met his eyes for a moment, but his polished-agate glare revealed nothing. He dragged the knife across the skin of her face, hard enough that he could hear the scrape of the metal edge and see the red flush it raised on her cheek. She flinched away, but only succeeded in pushing the blade closer to drawing blood.

Blaise lifted the knife from her face and placed the point of it against the palm of her trembling hand. Softly, slowly, almost gently, he ran the blade over her skin, leaving a shallow slice, no deeper than a paper cut. A small gasp, more of surprise than pain, escaped her mouth. He held the flat of the blade against the dripping cut until it was wet and glistening with her blood, drying slowly over his. Then he grasped her bleeding hand in his and turned the blade so it cut him as he drew it out from the sheath of their joined fingers. Staring at their clasped and bloodied hands as though hypnotized, he whispered:

_Secrets bound, by blood and fear  
Answer when called to, shed no tear  
Power and weakness, strength and lies  
Endure until the spirit dies_.

Then he crushed her hand in a grip so tight that she squirmed, feeling her fingerbones crush tendons and flesh between them with the pressure. Their mixed blood ran slowly down her wrist, leaving a snail-like trail behind it. Without warning, Blaise flung her away from him, the force causing her to crack her head painfully on the wall again.

But... but what does it mean? she stammered, caught between shock, horror, and confusion.

Blaise smiled with mocking sweetnessas he wiped the blade of his knife clean on his trousers.

It means you're mine now. Blood-bound and spell-sworn.

He finally stepped away from her into the middle of the moonlit corridor, leaving her cold and shaking against the wall.

Meet me here tomorrow night, he commanded softly. Don't be late.

And then he was gone, loping back down the hall toward the empty classroom, his echoing footsteps fading into the night.

ooooooooooo

Tally was scared. Fear had kept her quiet and docile under the boy's domination. Yes, fear, that's what it was. It was fear that kept her breath coming in gasps and her heart pounding wildly as she murmured the first healing spell that came to her mind, turning her shaking wand on her dripping hand. Fear kept her slumped against the cold stone wall where the boy had flung her, like a broken toy. Fear made her voice shake as she finally muttered a cleaning spell on her robes and the floor. **  
**  
But was it fear that made her feel filled with fire as she recalled the boy's wild eyes and the feral look on his face as he met her gaze from his sprawl on the floor? She had seen that hungry, triumphant look on a person's face once before. Another blush crept across her cheeks as she recalled precisely where: the face of a woman in a dark corner of a pub as a dark-haired man pressed against her and made her writhe against the wall. Her brother had gone there with his friends one night when he was supposed to be watching Tally. Unwilling to miss out on the fun, Andrew had taken her along and told her to stay out of trouble. Later that night, he had disappeared into one of the back rooms with a woman working at the bar and Tally had walked home alone.

Six years later, the memory of the same expression on the boy's face left her breathless and shaking again. She thought of him, back in the empty classroom by now, cleaning her blood from the knife blade, and using his shirt to wipe the blood from his chest, holding it against him to stop the flow, then slipping his robes on over bare skin that would sting and burn from the roughness...

No. This wouldn't do. She could tell from the muted clamor and flickering lights coming up the stairway at the end of the hall that the feast was still in full swing. If she slipped back in quietly enough, perhaps no one would notice her impromptu absence, because no one had seen her go; after all, who gave a rat's ass about stupid little Natalie McDonald, anyway?

Tally grimaced and ran down the corridor toward the light and laughing voices.

ooooooooooo

Bellatrix had a slight smile on her lips as she paced slowly around him, examining the tiny crystal vial. Without warning, she shook it violently, watching as the quicksilver liquid inside writhed and wriggled as though it had a mind of its own.

Well done. Her smile widened, almost imperceptibly. I was not entirely sure that you had it in you to complete the ritual. But you have surpassed even my highest expectations. Last night was quite a step for you, to complete such a difficult task alone.

Blaise looked up from where he was kneeling on the icy flagstones, and met her level gaze.

I wasn't aware it was a test.

Bella slowed her circling walk until she stood directly in front of him. Then, with a simple flutter of her ragged sleeves, the vial disappeared.

Zabini, _everything_ is a test. Her eyes glinted in the dim light.

From his half-crouch at her feet, Blaise could suddenly feel his heartbeat, feel the blood throbbing through his veins.

Thank sweet _Circe_ his voice hadn't broken on that one word. He couldn't stand it when she laughed at him.

Bellatrix did not laugh, but her tiny smile became as predatory as a cat's.

He gasped as her hand whipped out and slapped him, hard, across the face. Then, with as little warning, she yanked his head back by his hair and kissed him savagely, biting at his mouth. Blaise let out a muffled moan as pain and heat flooded through him, battling and merging under her cruel fingers.

She released her grasp on him, and stepped back, amusement plain on her narrow, starved face. Blaise flushed and would not meet her gaze. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to fuck her. She knew about both, and would let him do neither.

But there were other things she _would_ let him do.

Bellatrix reached down and dragged a long, thin finger along his skin, right above the neckline of his robes. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing evenly.

Show me, she commanded, her voice calm and cool, but allowing for no argument. He started to unfasten his robes, his eyes still shut tightly.

Look at me. Restraining another sound, which he suspected would have been embarrassingly close to a whimper, Blaise opened his eyes and met her savage gaze just before the black cloth fell away and revealed the raw cut across his chest. Bella let out her breath on a soft sigh,an almost a gentle sound.

How beautiful, she breathed. A sudden hungry look crossed her face. Would you like to have another one?

His eyes flickered shut again.

Whimper was the only word for it.

She reached into the bag at his side and drew forth the battered and stained knife. Then, holding it as delicately in her hand as an artist with a brush, she lashed out with vicious precision and slashed a thin cut across the old one. Blaise cried out and dropped to the ground as the whiplash of pain shot through his tired, strained body.

But as he fell to the ground and blackness rushed up to meet him, it was not the painful stare of Bella's dark eyes that filled his mind. It was a frightened glance from bright blue eyes, flickering and tentative, like the brush of her fingers...

She looked down at the prostate body of her teenage protégé, the hungry, intense young man with curly hair and a smile that refused to be anything less than wily. Too clever for his own good, really. She smiled. It was just the way she liked them. They were so much more valuable when they refused to be controlled. Kneeling down and drawing her ragged robes around her rail-thin body, Bella took Blaise's head into her lap and caressed his face, then ran her fingers through his hair. Quickly, before he began to stir, she pressed her hands almost viciously to his temples and closed her eyes, delving slowly into his mind like a diver into murky water.

Those who wouldn't be controlled had to be manipulated, and there was nothing like mental observation for manipulation. Blaise moaned slightly under the pressure of her touch, but Bella silenced him with a well-placed brush of her fingers.

Hush, little boy, she murmured. Nothing can hurt you when you are the monster in the dark. And she lost herself in the shadowy twists and turns of the young Death Eater's mind.

ooooooooooo

When he came to, Blaise was aware of two things: his pounding head and the darkness in the room. Bellatrix was gone.

He swore and stumbled to his feet, staggering slightly as the throbbing in his brain turned to a sharp and stabbing agony. Gasping for breath, he pressed his forehead against the cool stone of the wall. As the pain subsided, he slowly opened his eyes and looked out the window: the moon was high in a cloudless sky.

As he pelted down the shadowy corridor, he mentally griped against his mentor. Not that she could have known he had somewhere to be tonight, but sometimes the thought of her rummaging through his mind like it was a junk sale was a touch... disconcerting.

Anyway, the girl had looked like such a little mouse. Surely she wouldn't have gathered up enough courage to come. He'd have to track her down himself, and who knew what that might lead to. Blaise felt anger boiling up at the little mouse girl, as well. Bloody, cowardly people. Not a speck of backbone. She was probably a Mudblood as well, and then he'd have to silence her, just on the general principle.

Practically skidding around the last corner, Blaise slipped into the empty classroom from the night before and slammed the door behind him, leaning on it for a moment and struggling to regain his breath.

_What did you do to me?_

Shocked, he spun around, heart pounding wildly. Delvings always made him twitchy. There she stood, the little mouse, her hair disheveled and her eyes sunken in. She looked as though someone had been at her with a bat.

Blaise had seen horrible things, but the viciousness of the little girl's wounds took him by surprise. He tried to step away from her, but his back was pressed firmly against the closed door.

She stretched out her hands to him, the pleading, accusing look on her face as heart-rending as that of the unjustly dead. Her palms were gashed deeply, blood just beginning to blacken around the edges.

Blaise looked down into her eyes, those icy blue eyes. There were no tears, but they were alight with pain. He suddenly remembered himself, as a child, being told an ancient story by his nurse. True witches, she had said, in her mad, creaky old voice, never cry. Even in their death-throes, screams are the only thing to escape them. Long ago, the most powerful substance one could use against a witch or wizard was their soul blood- their tears. No witch would allow such power to be flaunted over her because of a moment of weakness.

Reaching down, he took the girl's tiny, mutilated hands and pressed them together between his. He knelt down, closed his eyes, and pulled her against him, his mouth almost against her cheek and his breath brushing against her like a caress.

I'll make you cry.

It was a promise. Blaise made it a point to never break his promises.

ooooooooooo

A/N  
This story was written as companion to Ill Met By Moonlight, which is posted on Fiction Alley (Schnoogle House), and You don't have to read it to understand this one, but it might help.The two stories take place nearly simulatneously, with this one starting a few days after IMBM does, and finishing a few weeks afterward. I hope you enjoy. All three parts are finished and I will be posting one every week. This is a dark story, though it lacks any grapic description of violence and there is no sex. Still, if dark is not your style, consider yourself warned. Once again, enjoy!  
Love from,  
Scarlett


	2. Seduction

**A MOON FOR THE MISBEGOTTEN**

Part II- Seduction

Well? How is it?Well enough, well enough. But I warned you from the beginning. His mental state has never been exactly what one might call dependable. Add to that all the stress of training, and even the normal things people of his age must cope with: hormones, school... I am not attempting to imply anything, I merely suggest that you keep a careful eye on him. He has been so successful to date, it would be a true shame to lose him because of a misjudgment in character.If a breakdown _were_ imminent, what do you think would be the most likely thing to trigger it?Well, as I said, it is truly nothing to be too concerned with, if you are careful...The trigger, Clann.Ah, yes, well, judging simply from his reactions and the magical feedback, I would have to say... the girl.Yes. Although, and I say this strictly from one professional to another, I don't think that the methods you are employing are the wisest in this particular...You train in your way, Clann. I'll train in mine.

Her icy anger evident in every line and angle of her thin body, Bellatrix Lestrange drew her robes around her tightly and swept out of Endelfrid Clann's study with all the dignity of a condemned queen.

Endel rose wearily from his chair and stretched, then closed the door quietly after her. She was right, he supposed. A mind-magic specialist knew little about how to discipline young Death Eaters. As a half-breed himself (it was amazing the mixes that could be produced using magic if one was so inclined, although anyone who made explicit mention of Endel's merrow ancestry was likely to find that magic could effect the mind in more bad ways than good), he always considered himself lucky to still be alive after more than ten years as an adviser to those Death Eaters who were still operating in stealth.

Steering his mind deftly away from such thoughts and memories, Endel paced slowly back to his desk and stared heavily at the roiling Pensive. With another deep sigh, he raised his wand and gently stirred the shimmering surface. The girl's wide-eyed face, slightly blurred and shining from having traveled between too many minds, swam fluidly into view.

It did not bode well for young Blaise, this shining image. Endel had seen stronger minds break sooner under the sort of unseen pressure Bellatrix was exposing him to. Such strong unconscious idolatry, and of one so obviously unworthy of receiving it, was clearly a subconscious attempt at escaping the unbearable tension his mentor was placing on him.

No. It did not bode well at all.

ooooooooooo

She felt so cold. So freezing, shivering _cold_. And sore. The bruises throbbed in time to the dull pounding ache in her hands, which were swollen and tender from the raw gashes. She had never imagined anything like this. It seemed like she ought to be screaming. But really, she just felt very, very tired.

Suddenly, like a mirage springing from the desert, the boy was there. His presence was antithesis to the ice within her. Everything about him was burning, from the fiery black of his shark eyes to the sweat that she could see standing out on his forehead as he leaned against the door, gasping for breath. The dark room seemed blurry and distant, swimming like some underwater cave. She heard herself say something desperate, pleading, and stretched her hands mindlessly out to his heat, feeling like a moth drawn to a candle flame.

And he took her into his warmth, surrounded and trapped her. He whispered something to her, but it was lost in the pounding pulse of blood in her ears, which washed away the world like an ocean tide.

And then he was muttering softly, brushing fingers against her wounds and bruises, and they seemed to mist over and fade away at his touch. She stood and trembled, her bright eyes following his every movement, with a feverish devotion. Many minutes later, he drew his hands away and leaned back on his heels, studying her now-downcast face.

Well, little girl, he said mockingly, What in Merlin's name have you been up to?

She looked up at him, startled.

I... don't know, she answered, and fainted dead away.

When Tally woke up again, the boy was crouched facing the farthest corner of the dark classroom, his ever-present tattered bag beside him. Smoke was rising gently from in front of him in tiny streams that curled and twisted. They seemed to be trying to spell out a message in the air... but one that Tally could not read. She tried to stand, but her legs would not support her, and her head was spinning so fast that she seemed to be floating, somewhere dark and unending. Once she was back on the solid ground again, she pushed against the floor and crawled until she was beside the boy.

Who are you? she asked, quiet and curious, her head cocked upward, the better to take in his face.  
**  
**Here, hold this, he answered without even glancing at her face, thrusting a small black bowl filled with a greenish, sloshing liquid toward her. Since you're here, you might as well be of some use.

It was either take the bowl or let it go and watch it shatter on the floor. Tally leaned forward and cradled it in her hands just before he let it go. The movement brought her much closer to him than before and she could see the bowl that sat in front of him. Almost, but not quite, against her will, she leaned in still farther to see the contents.

At first, it looked like mud. Then, it took on the distinctive sheen of quicksilver; just as fast, it shifted to aqua blue water, then to a bundle of writhing fluid which was the rippling shades of fire. Mesmerized, Tally watched the mad kaleidoscope metamorphosis taking place inside the bowl . Unbeknownst to her, Blaise looked down at her wide eyes and bright hair, shining in the constantly changing light, and smiled.

Her grip on the bowl was slowly loosening as she stared with wonder into the charm Blaise was concocting. They never made anything this amazing in classes, not even in Potions. This was obviously advanced magic, and arcane. Despite her relative inexperience in the magical world, Tally could see that this _thing_ was neither potion, nor primitive amulet, nor one of the magical objects sometimes used to focus and intensify spells. It was something else entirely, something new and wonderful that defied description.

Seeing her half-glazed eyes as she fell under the magic of the charm, Blaise reached out and took the bowl she was holding from her distracted grip. At his touch, she seemed to wake with a start, and stared up at him from her crouch on the floor.

What is it? she whispered in awe. Blaise smiled to behold her wonder, remembering, in some distant corner of his mind, the first time he had seen a blood charm being made. He pushed the bowl back into her willing hands, and steered them firmly toward the simmering charm.

See for yourself. She sat up slowly and stared at the fluid in her grip for one long moment, and then smoothly and decisively poured it into the bowl in front of her. There was a mighty hissing, but instead of a huge cloud of steam enveloping the both of them, as she half expected, a tiny stream of the fiery mixture slowly snaked its way up into the air in front of her. It threw everything in the dim room into sharp relief with its shimmering glow and made long, eerie shadows dance madly around them both.

The charmwas even more mesmerizing than before as it undulated slowly in front of Tally's face, like a fern trapped in an underwater current. Without warning, it struck out at her, faster than a viper. But before it could touch her, the boy was between them. Aiming for Tally's face, it instead latched firmly onto his arm, burning a hole through his robes and burying itself in his flesh. She could only look on as the boy's eyes fluttered quickly shut and a satisfied smile, so different from the smirk he usually wore, stole across his face. His breath escaped in a quiet gasp and a small stain of his blood spread out like a blooming flower from the tiny squirming snake.

Tally looked at that familiar, ecstatic expression calming his face and seized her chance.

she whispered, what's your name?

Little girl, he hissed, don't even try.

ooooooooooo

It was not the last time she was to help him with one of his strange spells. She knew it was probably dangerous, for she had not forgotten the strange and vicious beating she had received in the darkfrom Merlin knew who as she walked through the halls to meet him that first night, and the quiet voice that had whispered hatred and threats as she fell to the floor. It ought to have scared her. But it didn't. Rather, she wasexcited. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, not to innocent, silly little Natalie. Her whole family, a mixture of Ravenclaws and Slytherins, had thought her a Hufflepuff for sure. Quite the disappointment. But Gryffindor, well, that wasn't much better, of course. She was the stupid one in the family, meant for nothing very good. At first she had seemed to be a Squib, not showing her magic until she was eight and just beginning to understand the shame of being ordinary. She still wasn't very good at magic, at least, her professors didn't think so, and was only mediocre at best in Quidditch. She knew it, too.

But the boy... the boy didn't know that. The boy didn't know who she was, or even what House. She hadn't been wearing her tie or badge that first night, on account of the banquet, and was careful to avoid wearing them afterward. Slytherin, of course, just like her mother and brother and every other smart, wonderful person in her family. Clever and devious and powerful and mysterious. Everything she wasn't, and could never become.

The boy didn't know that, either. He had bound her by blood, the strongest magic there was, and he had called her back. The boy saw something different in her. Maybe even something... special. He _wanted_ her. She flushed nervously with pride at the very thought. And what he was doing, well, it wasn't meant for stupid little children, that much was clear. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. True magic, uncontrolled and wild, not the dry and dusty incantations from bland schoolbooks orscrolls that they were taught during school.

Most nights, though, the boy didn't want to work on his spells. Rather, he would set her to bottling or brewing other ingredients over a small blue fire while he studied tattered scraps of parchment from his school bag. But she didn't mind. The ingredients were strange, oddly colored things that she had only seen in glimpses on hidden shelves at the apothecary's shop as the tottery old man scuttled into one of his dank storerooms. These rare delicacies were never meant for students: Re'em blood and manticore venom and Hippocampus eggs. But the boy gave them to her, seemingly without concern, and told her how to prepare them for the next spell. It gave her a feeling of power that she had never known before. He trusted her.

He wouldn't tell her his name. Somehow, they never seemed to meet in the halls or outside, and she made sure to always keep her hair tied back and her face obscured by her goggles during Quidditch games. She sat with her back to the Slytherin table during meals. If he even suspected that she was a _Gryffindor_. Ugh. Natalie shuddered at the thought. He would never speak to her again. He would break the blood bond and send her away and she would never know who he was, never see another amazing spell take shape in the shadowy classroom, never again feel the wild rush of raw magic flooding through his body beside her... It didn't bear thinking about. But after all, she was just a third year, and she was almost certain he was in sixth or seventh. The was no reason for him to see her during school. Surely she was safe.

Her grades were suffering, of course, and her already shaky Quidditch flying was hurting under the pressure of too many sleepless nights. The Captain, Ronald Weasley, was furious at her, she was sure of it. But she couldn't stand to stop going to the boy at night. It was more amazing than anything she had ever been part of before, and magical like nothing else in this supposedly magical world was. Even Quidditch looked pale by comparison. Her only other consolation during Ronald's furious rants was that even Tally's idol, Ginevra Weasley, who was the best Chaser on the team and Ronald's own sister, seemed to be flying worse than usual.

But none of it seemed to matter in the slightest, not the Captain's anger and not her parents' wrathful Howlers as teacher after teacher wrote home about her flagging class work. No, none of it mattered at all, because one night, the boy took her out on the roof.

ooooooooooo

It was like nowhere she had ever been before. On top of the North Tower, perched on the very edge of the gutter, she could see faint glittering lights from windows far below, whose twinkling brilliance was beginning to be matched above her head by the emerging stars. She let out a sigh and smiled happily up at the boy, who sat beside her with his long legs dangling right off of the slanted pinnacle of the tower. Strangely, he smiled back at her, and then turned to observe the clear sky above.

So, little girl, what do you think?Oh, it's wonderful! she answered fervently. Better then Quidditch! Tally froze, inwardly cursing her slip. But the boy didn't seem to have noticed, merely continuing his survey of the darkening horizon. Still, perhaps it would be safer to change the subject. she said, her voice sounding forced, why are we here? He didn't answer. The silence grew longer, and she began to shift from side to side uncomfortably, making her perch on the roof even more precarious.

Stop that, he said absently, but with little of the usual annoyance. She hurriedly stilled her motions and remained frozen, staring up at him. The last glow of sunlight had long ago slipped away, and the sky was shaded somewhere between darkest blue and black. Suddenly, she felt his body go rigid beside her and he lifted his hand to point beyond the trees.

he commanded, his hoarse voice quiet in her ear.

For a moment, she thought that the sun, impossibly, was rising again. But it was far to dim too be the sun, too dim and too red. And yet, how could it be anything else? All she could glimpse through the trees of the Forbidden Forest was a glowing edge, rising slowly and surrounded by its own shimmering incandescence. She stood up quickly to get a better view and the blood rushed to her head, making her dangerously dizzy. But she stepped firmly away from the edge of the tower and clambered up the rough slates of the steep roof, toward the summit. It rather reminded her of the oak trees she used to climb when she was very, very small. Once at the top, she wrapped her arms around the peak of the tower and caught her breath.

What is it? she murmured in quiet awe, so low that she doubted the boy had even heard her.

The blood moon, he answered, and was silent.

She didn't like to annoy the boy with her questions, but all the same...

What makes it that way, so big and red?Some say it's an effect of Muggle pollution in the air, or just a rare combination of atmospheric conditions and the refraction of the setting sun. He paused. But I'll have you know, little girl, that I think it's something else entirely. She waited breathlessly for him to finish his sentence and pass on his wisdom to her...

Draco Malfoy and the Weasley girl are together, he said abruptly. Natalie froze like an insect transfixed in amber.

she asked carefully, after what seemed to her like an uneasy and lengthy silence. The boy looked at her as though she was quite mad.

Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin prefect, and Ginevra Weasley, the girl who plays on your House's Quidditch team. She's a Chaser, I believe, just like yourself.

Without a thought for the dangerous height, Natalie slid down from the tower and landed shakily on her feet back on the balcony below it. She stared upward at the boy's blank face for one horrorstricken moment (_he knew, good Lord, he knew_) and fled, her bright hair whipped wildly in the wind as she ran.

Blaise sighed lightly and leaned back against the rough shingles of the tower roof, staring at the moon above him as it spilled its bloody light across the dying grass so far below. The cast of the light suited Bella's face perfectly, he reflected, unperturbed by the gaunt witch's sudden and silent appearance at his side.

What in Grindelwald's name possessed you to do that, boy? she asked quietly. He was unnerved and slightly unsettled to hear no accusation or anger in her voice, just polite interest. Odd.

Maybe just to see what would happen, I suppose. Maybe because I wanted her to know. Her young student seemed unusually thoughtful. Perhaps Clann might be on to something. A disturbing notion, but not impossible. It would have to be dealt with.

You'll have to tell her, you know, if she ever recovers her mouse-like courage and returns to you. It interested Bellatrix to see the complex but repressed play of emotion on the boy's face at her carefully chosen words. Fear was regrettably present, and anger, yes. But that was not all. Pain. A tiny flicker of it, but undeniable. _What a shame,_she thought, almost wistfully. _What a shame, indeed._

She'll come back, he said confidently, his face wiped clear of any weaker feelings. If only Bellatrix could discount them as quickly. She won't have a choice.

Yes, it would have to be dealt with. Soon.

ooooooooooo

A/N Special thanks to Aleys, Flukey, and, of course, Georgentosser, for their kind and helpful reviews. You rock, guys! Last chapter in one week, be sure to check back in! Love from,  
-Scarlett


	3. Cessation

**A MOON FOR THE MISBEGOTTEN**

Part III- Cessation  


It burned. This was not an especially shocking revelation to Blaise. After all, it was practically a brand, marking him forever as a disciple of the Dark Lord. And yet, despite all of his long harbored expectations, he was somewhat taken aback to hear the sizzle of crisping skin, and smell the stench of his own burning flesh wafting through the cold night air. But he didn't scream. He didn't even blink.

Just out of his line of sight, Bellatrix was watching him. He felt that he could almost see her mouth curl in a smile of triumph and pride. Faster than smoke on the wind, the circle of black cloaked figures which had stood in silent witness around him backed away and melted into the shadows of the silent graveyard. The Dark Lord himself was gone before Blaise could draw his first breath as a full-fledged Death Eater, the first one to be Marked in almost 16 years. Certain that he was alone now (_had she just abandoned him, of course, of course, a test, everything was a test, everything, everything, even when she kissed him, drove him mad, ripped him apart)_, he fell to his knees and tried to breath deeply; his bare arm throbbed and stung in the chilled air.

Raising his head gingerly, he looked around. Everything seemed to be just the same as before. The stars shone above the pine trees that towered on the edge of his vision and the moon... the moon...

Natalie.

Her innocent face, those wide blue eyes opened wide with wonder and her hair shining like the moonlight, seemed to waver in his mind. He mused vaguely what she would do if she saw him now, sweaty and defiled, just like the first time they had met. Run away? Or would she come closer, drawn by the darkness she could never have felt until she met him?

The world seemed to give an especially hard lurch beneath him and Blaise buried his head in his arms with something remarkably like a choking sob. Feeling vaguely feverish, he pictured Natalie's pale, slim arm Marked like his was now, the sharp redness surrounded by unblemished white skin. The vision was almost as beautiful as Bella's eyes. Feeling the world tugging at him again, he pressed his inflamed arm so that it stabbed with pain and imagined Natalie's bright blue eyes filled with the tears he had so fervently promised to elicit from her.

Watching from the shadow of her cousin Regulus's gravestone, Bellatrix was becoming worried. Blaise, who had just shown such defiant resistance to the Dark Lord's tests of pain and skill, was crouched protectively on the ground, weeping like a very small child. Despite her reckless methods of training, she did not want to lose her star pupil to madness as Clann had predicted. Bellatrix Lestrange, who had faced murderous Aurors, the dementors of Azkaban, and the darkness of her own worse nightmares without flinching, felt a tremor of fear. It would not do at all for her plans to be spoiled now.

He was close, close enough to touch, and distracted by the wailing of his own inner demons. She stretched her hand out from the shadows and pressed it lightly to his head, reaching into the darkness of his tortured mind. And there she was. Natalie.

Bellatrix did not know how the two had met, or when Blaise had learned her name, or how this small girl managed to torment her perfect recruit with such absurd ease. She had thought the boy untouchable, but things had clearly gotten out of hand, in spite of her own attempt to scare the silly child off. Still, perhaps the situation could still be salvaged. In fact, if all was done carefully and with skill, this disaster could even be turned to the advantage of her and her Master.

she whispered, her hoarse voice cracking as she tried to keep it low and soothing. Blaise, look at me. He raised his twisted, tear-streaked face; she looked into his dark eyes and saw both the madness of a wild beast and the bewilderment of an abandoned child. The gaunt Death Eater ran an icy finger down his face and felt him lean into the cold caress. No, all was not lost.

she murmured quietly, the girl must die.

ooooooooooo

After two days, Tally found that she couldn't sleep. No matter what she did, her thoughts raced through her head and drove away any chance of peaceful rest. Only after walking her body to the brink of exhaustion could her animal instincts overcome her reluctant mind and send her into oblivion. So, that's what she did. Wandering the dark halls for hours after curfew, she had had more than a few close calls with Filch, but somehow always managed to conceal her slight body (and it was growing slighter all the time, she noted vaguely; food tasted dry and bitter in her mouth) in little nooks and crannies until the prowling danger passed.

The boy's face haunted her. Sitting in class or staring at her untouched plate during dinner, his cold eyes and blank face glared out accusingly from her mind. He knew what she was. He knew _who _she was. And he was never, ever going to speak to her again. She hadn't even seen him around school since... then.

But the most amazing thing to Tally was that no one had noticed. No one asked her what was wrong or tried to cheer her up. She wasn't entirely positive that they knew she was there. Her teachers had long ago given up asking for her assignments or calling on her in class; in Quidditch, the Captain was talking about replacing her if she didn't start making goals, or at least, as he put it, bothering to stay the bloody hell _awake_ during matches. She felt bad about falling off her broom during the match with Slytherin and losing the goal, really she did, but she had thought that she saw the boy's face, staring up at her from the stands, and it had distracted her more than somewhat. But she hadn't been asleep, no matter what Ron said. Except during that early practice yesterday. She might have dozed then, just a little bit. Just for a minute. But she'd stayed in the air, so the Captain really had no right to be threatening her so.

She ought to be trying to forget about him. What was done was done, that's all there was to it. She ought to be getting her life back to normal. But when what little sleep she got was filled with wistful dreams of mad, shifting colors and cold agate eyes, well, she just didn't rightly see how it was possible.

ooooooooooo

She was sitting perched on a window-ledge, staring out at the lake. The brilliant moonlight illuminated her hair and left her face in shadow, much like the first time he saw her. From his shadowed position down the corridor, he couldn't see her eyes; he closed his own and there they were, glowing blue and bright. Holding on tightly to the shining image, he ran his hand over the stone wall beside him until one edge sliced a tiny cut. He pressed at it with his fingers until he could feel a single drop of blood fall to the floor.

he called out softly, in an almost singsong voice. She turned. Her eyes were wide as she searched for his shape in the shadows and they were just as he had remembered. He lowered his hood and knelt down, regardless of the dirty stones against his robes, and she slid from the ledge and ran to him like a child. Which, now that he thought about it, she was.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm _so _sorry, she whispered over and over again, her tiny bright head buried deep in the rough fabric and her hands splayed out against him, as though desperately searching for some reassurance of his presence. Her breath was coming in heaving gasps and she clung to him as if in fear of falling.

After some minutes, her agitation began to die down and she raised her head to stare at his narrow face.

But you came back, she said, her voice soft with amazement and a small smile of relief came creeping onto her trembling mouth.

Not for long, little girl, he told her quietly, but firmly. He resolved ever to use her name again. It was like trying to name a star after some stupid Muggle myth: pointless and inaccurate. She was the little girl and he was the boy, and so it would remain. Enjoy it while you can.I will, she told him earnestly, and proceeded to curl up against him and go to sleep.

Looking down at her peaceful face and the spread of her pale hair on his black robes, Blaise wondered quietly if the world had gone mad. It had started quite simply, he knew that for a fact. Little girls couldn't be trusted to keep secrets. He was at a loss to explain anything that had happened after that. It bothered him, and he decided to ignore it as much as was humanly possible.

But the night was so quiet and her body was so warm curled up next to his, like a cat... Blaise yawned once and fell quite thoroughly asleep, bent protectively around a slumbering third-year Gryffindor in the middle of the Charms corridor.

Looking down at the two still figures, Bellatrix felt obligated to admit that all was not going precisely as she had hoped. It was, to say the least, irritating. Damn that stupid little girl for endangering everything that she had lived and fought and killed for during the past fifteen years. It was a simple matter of magical balance and ritual that she have under her domination these three children whom she had so painstakingly brought together. Draco, Ginevra, and Blaise were like pieces of a puzzle: utterly useless apart, but complimenting and enabling each other to virtual perfection when properly placed. And now this foolish child was attempting to pervert and and otherwise corrupt her flawless protégé. It was all the child's fault, and the child would pay. The time was drawing near to see where the boy's power truly lay: in the eyes of a weak little waif, or in the mind of the Dark Lord's strongest and most loyal servant.

ooooooooooo

When Blaise suddenly awoke, quiet suddenly, his first impression was one of darkness. Inescapable, stifling darkness. There was no light, no air, no space for movement. He would have cried out, but knew that it would not be allowed. _A test_, came the thought. _Everything is a test_. He looked down. A stream of brightness burned below his eyes, cutting through the imprisoning darkness like the sun. He blinked. _Natalie_, he thought, and it all came back. The spell (or had it merely been a tortured projection of his imagination?) fled.

Bellatrix, he realized, was standing above him. There was no indication in her expression or her stance to suggest how long she had been there, but he suspected it was her incriminating stare that had jerked him from sleep. Not wanting to wake the little girl, but not wishing to anger Bella, he paused for an interminable moment, then scrambled to his feet after carefully sliding the little girl's head from his chest to the floor. Amazingly, she didn't wake. Bellatrix's expression did not alter as he stood up and faced her; her eyes were the same depthless black and her mouth stayed in the same hard, straight line. After a silence that would once have made him squirm, she spoke.

I trust, my young apprentice, that you have not forgotten what must be done. He bowed his head.

Of course not, Bella. He took a long reluctant breath. But she is... very fond of me.

Bellatrix smiled coldly. So was your puppy dog once, I imagine, Zabini, before you used it to practice the Killing Curse.

She had, he was forced to admit, a point.

she said imperially, it is time. Say good bye to that thing, if you must. We haven't the time to deal with it now.

He stared down at the little girl curled up on the black stone of the corridor, her blue eyes hidden like stars behind a cloud. Feeling foolish, but oddly compelled, he knelt beside her, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensation of Bellatrix's impatience issuing from behind him. Brushing the bright hair away from her face and feeling it run through his fingers, he was struck by a thought. Drawing his knife (he distinctly heard Bellatrix suck in a breath as he did so. Twisted old harpy.), he held the gleaming shine away from her face and cut a lock. He stood, sheathing the black and bloodied knife, and raised an eyebrow mockingly at Bella, very nearly daring her to comment.

How... quaint, was her only remark, said with a peculiar twist to the lips.

He supposed it was. An odd thought. Him and the little girl, quaint. Very odd.

ooooooooooo

When Natalie woke, the boy was gone. Her immediate reaction was panic. _He was gone, he was gone, he was never coming back_, replaced several seconds later with determination. She was not a stupid little child. She was not, and she would deal with this calmly and maturely. After all, breaking into the Slytherin common room was mature, right? Well, maybe. Sort of, anyway.

After three years of careful observation, Tally knew where all of the entrances to all of the Houses were. But when she stood before the blank stretch of wall that marked the entrance to the heart of Slytherin House, her mind was suddenly quite blank. She didn't know the password. She didn't even know if a password was what would allow access. It was the standard method for most of Hogwarts, but trust Slytherins to be mavericks, just to feel special Despite all of Tally's strong-minded intentions, a small groan of frustration escaped her throat and she slid to the cold stone floor. She could not fight it any longer.

You won't get in that way, came a tiny voice from above her head, with a hint of a snicker.

She sat bolt upright and stared around wildly.

Over here, said the voice, now sounding bored by her idiocy. A tiny silver snake was wrapped sinuously around the torch-bracket above her head. It was obviously laughing at her with its flickering metal tongue.

Like I said, you won't get in by whimpering, but I don't know why you would bother, anyway.Well, it's important, she retorted angrily. How dare this little reptile mock her? It wasn't even flesh and blood!

it said nastily, I'm something much better.

_What in the..._

That's right, I can hear you. So keep your materialistic besmirchment to yourself.But I have to... she began desperately, feeling the boy slip farther and farther away with each second she delayed.

You'll have to wait, that's what you'll have to do, little brat. They're gone, every single one of them, and good riddance. It was gone in one smooth glint of polished metal, slithering around the torch and out of sight.

Not bothering to wonder why a snake, even an exceedingly rude metal one, might be glad that the Slytherins had disappeared, Tally despairingly pressed her hand against the rough stone beside her... and stumbled and fell hard as it dissolved beneath her touch. Not in any state to appreciate the fine, dignified, and intimidating architecture of the Slytherin dungeons, the first thing she noticed was that it was empty. Completely, echoingly empty.

Gone. Well, she supposed numbly that it was really no more than she deserved.

She curled up warmly on the ancient green rug at the entryway to the cold stone room and gave herself up to exhaustion.

ooooooooooo

The tiny silver bell fought its way through swaths of cobwebs and dirt accumulated over more years than anyone cared to count and gave a pathetic tinkle, quietly announcing the arrival of a customer. Like most of the shops in Knockturn Alley, no sign proclaimed its wares or services. But then, like most of the shops in Knockturn Alley, its reputation in the right circles was more than advertisement enough. Any substance or potion to be provided, for a certain price, and never any questions asked. Besides, Bella was more than willing to give business to family, provided they knew what they were doing; no one alive knew poisons like Renata Lestrange. But there was an uncomfortable amount of mystery surrounding her sister-in-law and Bellatrix preferred to keep their visits short.

As the slim young woman came from behind a tall shelf, wiping her hands on her skirt, and saw who her customer was, Bella knew that the feeling was mutual. Meeting those empty looking eyes, reputed to have seen death and beyond, Bellatrix felt unaccountably uncomfortable. It made her sharper than she probably should have been.

Renata, I need to obtain a poison.Ah, so this is not a social call. What a terrible, terrible _shame_. That odd, sweet smile crept across her face and Bella itched to curse it off, despite how much it would upset Rodolphus. And that mocking voice, pointedly emphasizing the falsity of her cordial manner... Still, Renata would have what she needed. Would have it or would get it, as sure as she, Bellatrix, was still a Black at heart.

Tears of the Thestral, she said curtly, and was pleased to see the woman's pale eyes widen and come to life for a moment with surprise.

My, my, aren't we particular? She stepped away from the counter, and seemed to vanish, but her voice came floating back to Bella from one of the underground storerooms. Let us see now. I don't suppose that manticore venom or the Moonstone Draught would do instead, my _dearest_ sister?It certainly would not.Of _course_ not.

A delicate sea-green bottle, surrounded by the gently glowing mist of a shielding spell, floated up from behind the counter. It was followed shortly by Renata herself, guiding the poison's progress with her wand.

It's not to be wasted, Bellatrix, she said, her mock-scolding voice concealing a threat just below the surface.

I wouldn't dream of it, replied the Death Eater coldly, holding out her hand for the bottle.

Oh, but I simply _can't_ make such an exception, even for _beloved_ family such as yourself. She held her own hand, like a large pale moth, out for the money. Bellatrix conjured it from somewhere within her tattered robes (the same she had worn since Azkaban) and dropped it loudly on the counter before sweeping out with her purchase.

Family could be such a bore.

ooooooooooo

Won't the other two notice? Won't they suspect?They are busy tonight, Blaise. You have nothing to fear. This is not their concern, but yours, and yours alone.It's their Marking, isn't it. A statement, not a question.

Silence.

Well, good luck and congratulations to them, I'm sure. As he walked away from her, she wondered where her cold, clever, cruel, and, above all, devoted, apprentice had gone. But she knew that the end of this farce would bring him back. It would. She was certain. Her Master's power had never failed her before.

And yet, foolish as it was, she had to admit she was... not concerned. Never that. But... troubled.

Down the corridor and locked away in her Tower, the little girl felt the pull of his command and jumped from her bed before he had even finished the calling. Resembling an extremely immodest ghost in only her thin nightgown, she slipped from the portrait hole and practically flew down empty corridors and the darkened stairs, into the Great Hall.

He was nowhere in sight. But then she looked up.

she breathed, but he was much too far away to hear; only between the bright, shifting illusion of clouds and stars could he faintly be seen, standing in the rafters of the Great Hall itself. She thought for one swift moment, and then drew her wand and pointed it at one of th**e c**hairs. Swish and flick.

Wingardium Leviosa, she whispered happily and perched on it as it soared upward.

Very clever, he said, the usual small mocking smile hovering on his lips as she landed lightly beside him on the narrow beam.

Not half as clever as you are! she exclaimed quietly. How did you manage to come back? Your whole house was missing, and Ginevra Weasley as well!I know, he said quietly, not meeting her gleeful gaze.

A long pause. He could picture the hurt in her eyes, like an abandoned puppy. Why didn't you take me with you? I would have stayed quiet. I could have helped you, just like always. So eager to prove her worth.

He knelt down in front of her and looked at the bottle in his hands, then into her face.

Little girl, will you do something for me?Anything you want, she replied instantly, gazing down at him, her eyes practically glowing with love. Devotion. Trust. _No, don't think about it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Just the test._

He pressed the bottle into her hand. She gazed at its delicate beauty in awe for a moment, and then held it up in the false moonlight coming from below their feet to admire the play of light through the glowing glass.

Drink it, he whispered, and she, carefully unscrewing the top so as not to spill a drop, obeyed.

But as the coldness began to creep through her limbs and chilled her very blood, she gazed again at the empty shining bottle and back at him with a forlorn look.

"Boy," she whispered through the ice that was filling her throat and mouth and making it hard to speak, "are you coming with me?"

He stared into her bright blue eyes, the eyes of an angel, and found he could not lie.

"No, little girl. You are all alone."

One tear, catching the light and glistening wetly, welled up as she stared at the demon boy who had brought her to life and killed her again, who had shown her indescribable beauty and filled it with ineffable darkness. The tear fell, and Blaise caught it and brought it to his mouth.

"Your soul," he whispered. It could have been a promise, a plea, an expression of dying adoration. Bellatrix did not know. Nor did she care.

_Every school has its secrets. Some have hidden rooms, concealed passageways, or mysterious ghosts. Hogwarts has its very own guardian angel. She watches, her bright blue eyes filmy with death, from behind an illusion of sky and stars. But her soul is elsewhere, flying through the shadows of night in the heart of a boy, a man, a monster. A demon with a soul; who ever heard of such a thing?_

ooooooooooo

Darkness. Devotion. Death  
A Moon for the Misbegotten

ooooooooooo

A/N

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed the story and thanks so much for reading (your reviews would certainly be appreciated)! Thanks to **shadieladie**, **Georgentosser**, and **Aelys** for their kind and encouraging reviews. You guys rock! Love from,  
-Scarlett


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